Mary In Roses
by Wadeinthewater
Summary: Mary Lennox has some thinking to do, she just doesn't know why..


Something I wrote quickly after not be able to fall asleep for two hours, because I had just watched The Secret Garden (1993) for the first time in years, and just couldn't deal with the bitter sweetness of the whole thing. The absoblominglutely gorgeous soundtrack didn't help matters much either. This was done quickly, its horribly short, its basically me venting about life, and its my first fic ever, but I hope someone likes it enough to say..review? : )

P.S. Actually, now that I think about it, could the flames maybe be kept to a minimum? Ok, on with the show…

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Lyrics by Patty Griffin.

Mary in Roses 

_- - -Mary you're covered in roses, you're covered in ashesYou're covered in rain- - -_

Mary sat still as a stone on the old swing of her garden. She didn't make a sound, and she didn't plan to. Instead she planned to sit in the rain, amongst the roses, with her dress dirtied and soaked through, ribbons falling from her hair, and think. She was under no great stress, no terrible tragedy had recently occurred, and she and her loved ones were all in good health. And yet something was tearing at her chest, threatening to make her come undone, in a manner she had not experienced since that fateful day when she had first cried, and the magic of the Secret Garden had been allowed to spread a little to all corners of Misselthwaite Manor. And oh, the magic had not disappeared. Far from it, and although she was now sixteen years old she still felt like a little girl every time she stepped through the gate. Except today. Though the garden provided some comfort, it could not rid her of this feeling that was somehow.. bittersweet? Perhaps, but it seemed to not suit any of the situations she had recently found herself in. Was this emotion not associated with loss? Loss of something you do not want to say goodbye to, but know you have to? At this thought, her heart seemed to be pulled at with a little tug that got her attention. And suddenly she began to cry. For the second time in her life, Mary Lennox was crying. The tears fell slowly, but with such an intensity she was almost afraid of them. Mingling with the rain, they seemed to disappear, so that the only indication of their existence to a passer-by would have been Mary's racking sobs.

It just so happened that someone did come into the garden at that moment, having forgotten a few tools by a particularly magnificent rose bush. Someone who had assured a younger Ms. Lennox that she would soon become sick of said flowers- a notion which she had later scoffed at. Mary would never become tired of the beautiful plants, with their beautiful thorns. Dickon quickly sensed her discontent, and called quietly through the rain, praying that nothing had happened to her, and that she would not catch her death from the cold. She looked up, not meeting his eyes. Oh, how ashamed she was of her pointless tears. As Dickon stepped up to her, he motioned to the swing, asking her permission to sit, which was reluctantly granted with a shaky pat of the seat. Dickon squeezed into the position, mimicking the actions of their former selves, when they posed for the camera. The stayed like that for an eternity, and whether Mary's tears were drying neither could tell. All they knew was that each found the other's eyes too mesmerizing to look away. _Why is he so wonderful, good god, why must I feel this way? _Dickon's hand was then on her cheek, stroking it with the utmost gentleness. And as their skin came in contact Mary came to realize why she was crying. I'm crying for the future, she thought with a desperate heart. The future without the garden, without Dickon, without Colin , without the Manor. Had reality snuck up on her so fast? The perfect years, the perfect moments, the beauty and magic, would it all be gone so quickly? Of course it would, there was no question in her mind that one day she would have to leave, because of someone else's desires, or society's, or perhaps her own. There was also no question that she would find happiness. But wherever she went, it would still not be here. And for that she felt the utmost bittersweet loss. So, as Dickon's lips slowly met hers in a soul searing kiss, she wanted the rain to stop, for the way to clear . But it kept on pouring, amongst the roses and the birds, and Mary and Dickon, because she knew in her heart that this kiss had made everything more perfect, and so had made everything that much harder to bear. But that would remain her secret for now.

_- - -Mary you're covered in roses, you're covered in ruinyou're covered in secretsYou're covered in treetops, you're covered in birdswho can sing a million songs without any words - - -_


End file.
